


A Brief Domestic Interlude

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Nerf gun tag, idk i've never used a Nerf gun, is that what it's called?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 08:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15457251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Viktor comes home after a long day of meetings to find Yuuri has set up a surprise for him.





	A Brief Domestic Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "I came home to a Nerf gun on the front porch and a note that says ‘Here is your weapon. I have one too. Loser cooks dinner. Good luck. xo’"

Viktor will freely admit that he loves his husband. He often does so loudly, with great enthusiasm, and to the profound annoyance of those around him (Yurio). (Viktor is aware of this fact). (He, of course, continues to do it anyway). 

He is also not ashamed to say he thinks his husband usually has the best ideas. Proposing, for one. Their Stammi Vicino pairs skate, for another. Not to mention some of their more adventurous bedroom activities. A shiver runs down Viktor’s spine at the memories. But this time, he thinks, this time his darling Yuuri may have miscalculated.

He smiles as he reads over the note taped to the door one last time, the challenge printed in Yuuri’s neat but distinctive handwriting, before pulling it down, folding the paper in half, and sliding it into the pocket of his suit jacket. _Here is your weapon,_ it reads. _I have one too. Loser cooks dinner. Good luck._ ♥

A Nerf gun lies on the doormat as promised. Viktor finds himself grinning widely as he slips off his jacket and picks it up. _Challenge accepted._ Definitely miscalculated. After all, no one becomes a five-time world champion without a competitive streak wider than the Volga. (Yuuri has one too). (Viktor knows this). (It’s one of the many things that make it so much fun when they compete against one another). (It has been a long day of meetings and smiles and handshakes and phone calls, ruthless calculation hidden behind bland eyes, and Viktor is looking forward to having some _fun_ ). 

The door makes no noise as he makes his way into the apartment. The apartment itself is quiet, too, no smiling Yuuri or boisterous Makkachin there to greet him. The lights are dim, the sound system silenced. Normally, returning home to dark, empty, silence would twist an ache in his chest until it could be soothed by the sight of Yuuri’s jacket hanging in the closet, or Yuuri’s toothbrush and toiletries lined up neatly next to the sink, or the packages of natto that they’d found at the only Japanese supermarket in St. Petersburg neatly stacked in the refrigerator.

But today the dark and the quiet only make Viktor smile wider because today he doesn’t need the reminder that the emptiness is a lie. Today he knows it’s a trap.

Moving as silently as he can, he hangs up his jacket and takes off his shoes. His socks glide across the hardwood as he moves into the living room. The clock in the kitchen makes the only noise other than his own breath as he scans for any movement, the _ticks_ of the second hand louder than they ever are other than in the depths of the night. 

Sofa, entertainment center, armchair, all clear. No one on or behind or beneath. Same for the kitchen. Island and breakfast bar deserted, the dining room table likewise.

Satisfied, Viktor creeps towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. 

A plastic _click_ rings through the air and Viktor barely has time to duck as a foam dart flies through the air and over his shoulder. A familiar, beloved laugh floats out of the bedroom, followed in quick succession by two more darts aimed squarely at the center of his torso. Viktor catches a glimpse of dark hair and a wide smile as he ducks back behind the corner.

A quick reconnaissance survey—he sticks his head out into the hall and takes a look around—reveals that Yuuri remains entrenched in the bedroom. The door is open, wide enough to see in, and the lights inside are on now, warm and welcoming, spilling out into the hallway.

Slowly, cautiously, Viktor creeps towards the opening. At a gentle push, the door swings fully open. As no barrage of projectiles immediately meets the intrusion, Viktor cautiously pokes his head into the room. 

It appears at first glance to be empty of both fiance and dog. Viktor’s pulse beats loudly in his ears as he steps from the relative safety of the doorjamb and into the open space of the room. Still nothing. His eyes flicker over to the master bathroom, but the door is closed and latched. The closet, too, offers no obvious hiding place for his darling Yuuri.

The floors do not creak as he moves across them—the building is new and well constructed, and while Viktor sometimes misses the homey warmth and charm of the Katsuki family home he certainly appreciates the stealth advantage now—and his shadow stretches long and thin behind him on the dark wood.

_Bark!_

Not halfway to the bed, Viktor drops to a crouch and then a crawl at the sound as Makkachin pops her head up from behind the far side, front paws pressed against the mattress, tongue lolling in a doggy grin. 

“Makka, no,” Yuuri’s voice, only slightly scolding, mostly filled with laughter, drifts up from his hiding place, followed by tousled hair and a bespectacled pair of beloved brown eyes.

Viktor grins, and presses his chin against the opposite side of the bed, eyes crinkling at the corners as he meets Yuuri’s gaze. “Yuuri! I found you!” They stare at one another like trench sentries, poised suspicious and hesitant, the width of the bed a no-mans-land stretched between them. 

_Click!_ A foam dart impacts squarely in the center of Yuuri’s chest before falling to the floor. Yuuri’s eyes widen, eyebrows raised, mouth rounded into a surprised ‘o’. They both stay like that, frozen, eyes fixed squarely on the other, waiting for a signal to make the next move.

Then a laugh bursts forth from Yuuri’s chest, his mouth split one more into a wide grin, and he hops from behind the bed and onto the mattress, straight at Viktor.

At the sight of his husband hurtling across the bed towards him— _is that one of Viktor’s sweaters he’s wearing? No fair being so distracting_ —followed by an incredibly excited Makkachin, Viktor scuttles backward in an attempt to make space for the imminent collision. His socks are slick on the hardwood, and he goes down with a thump. He is not displeased to find himself soon after with a lapful of laughing Yuuri, both of them quick to be bathed in poodle kisses.

Yuuri raises a hand to cup Viktor’s face and leans in to press a kiss of his own to Viktor’s lips, eyes shining.

“I caught you,” he says, “You’re getting slow.” Another kiss. Three. Four. The smile that reaches both mouth and eyes reassures him that the words are teasing, not cruely meant.

“Surely you are not claiming to have won, solnyshko?” Viktor teases back somewhere between the fifth and seventh kisses. “I am the one who managed to tag you, after all.” 

Yuuri laughs. “Perhaps, but how do you intend to press your advantage? After all, you surrendered your weapon.” He drops his own as he pulls Viktor closer.

Viktor shrugs at that before re-dedicating himself to one of his favorite pastimes and kissing Yuuri with renewed focus and concentration. Fair enough, he supposes. After all, if he has one hand on Yuuri’s thigh and the other slowly tracing patterns up Yuuri’s back, then he must have dropped the Nerf gun at some point. But he would argue that he is doing a pretty good job of pressing his advantage regardless.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, pulling back just a fraction.

“Hmmm?” Viktor asks, before leaning forward into another kiss.

“Vitya, we still need to make dinner.”

“Must we?”

That earns him another laugh. He doesn’t think he will ever get tired of hearing those as long as he lives. “What would my coach say if he heard I wasn’t eating proper meals?”

“That it was a sacrifice for a good cause?” Viktor suggests, only half teasing as he pulls Yuuri back in for another kiss, and then another.

“We could go out to eat,” Yuuri says, the words murmured into the join of Viktor’s throat and his jaw. 

It’s Viktor’s turn to laugh. “Now who’s ignoring their diet plan?” Not that Viktor can give him too much grief for it, after all, Viktor is usually the one suggesting off-plan dinner dates (he tries to restrain himself and be a good coach, but sometimes his enthusiasm for rediscovering the culinary delights of his hometown—and for making Yuuri happy—will overcome him and he’ll slip up). 

Yuuri chuckles and doesn’t deny it. “Or we could cook together,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Viktor reaches up to straighten his glasses, knocked slightly askew in the commotion. “We do that every night.”

“And I enjoy it every night, don’t you?”

“Yes, love, yes I do.”

The best ideas indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
